


He Would Die By Your Sword

by atlas_white



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, maxwil - Freeform, survivor!Maxwell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25176091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_white/pseuds/atlas_white
Summary: Wilson is on his knees,  and he demands that Maxwell strike him down.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	He Would Die By Your Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a drawing by Ecotoxic, and so dedicated to them.

  
"Kill me," he says, and your heart is in your neck. You were the King of Shadows, the ruler of all that you could touch, and now you don't have anything left in this world except for the sword in your hand and the man in front of you, on his knees, baring his throat to you. He's your whole world, and that expression on his face makes you feel weak.

"No," you answer softly, with none of the great power that your voice is supposed to have. You just sound like a man. Not like Maxwell, but that poor, scared magician that died all those years ago (train accident, it was catastrophic, but you know people don't talk about it anymore).

" _Do it_ ," he insists, with all the force in his voice that yours lacks. His eyes are wild, intense. You want to kiss them. "Kill me, cut me open. Use me to survive. One of us has to."

It cuts you to the quick. Is that why he started this? Is that why he shakes the way he does? He shouldn't be asking you for this. He should be asking you for help.  
"You're talking foolishly. I don't need to do that." You could dismiss the sword into the darkness whence it came (your own, the black claws and the stain marring dark skin), but you make a show of lowering it instead. The only light you've ever known is in the silver eyes that widen as the blade is taken away. "Besides. I would sooner starve than take from you."

"What are you doing? You have to. I'm coming apart, look at me. I'm not long for this world." He protests. You hate that he protests.

"You're only tired. Don't forget your promise, Wilson." You touch the flat of the blade to his cheek. He stares at you unflinching.

"I feel as though I'm crumbling. My head's buzzing, I can't take it." Both hands, fingers bent into claws, bury themselves in his hair, and move through it in a gesture of frustration.

"I know," you tell him. You do know. You've seen him, so strong, braving this world and all its unnatural cruelty. It hurts to see him this way, so distraught, so hopeless, with his energy spent and his sanity in tatters. He needs sleep, he needs care. "Come. Let me help you."

"I told you what you can do. Give me some damn peace." It's a growl like an animal's growl. It prompts you to dissolve the Nightmare Sword. You can feel the darkness move in you, and around you.

You close the distance, taking the sword's place. Kneel in front of him and put your arms around him, you can feel him shake. He's so weary now. Just a little help. He's in tears. His face is hot. He sobs into the pinstripe suit that you still have on after all this damn time. No longer does he ask for death, but only clings to the safety of the one thing that he has in this world, that which he would die for so readily. 

For once, you are grateful for the darkness in your bones as you shift and grow, as the beast in you becomes you, and you lift him from the ground to carry him from here, and whisper softly to him that he will be safe in the morning. His hands gripping a mane now, and you the darkness holding your light in claws so great and sure you are certain they were shaped for nothing else.


End file.
